Iscariot tales
by novisha.rivera.1
Summary: What if your name became over time synonymous with the word "traitor and betrayer". Could you live with it? Could you live with it for two thousand years?


Iscariot

(rated r-violence, some sexual content, language)

Pain, swirling lights behind his eyes. A putrid stench, like the floor of a charnel house, met his nostrils. Biting winds assaulted and tore at his already brutalized body. Despair filled the depths of his heart and soul, with unremitting sorrow , added in for flavor. Nothing could ever change what he had done. Death would not bring comfort nor atonement for his sins because he could not die. A deep rumbling noise fought its way through this blizzard of turmoil. It grew louder, harsher and began to resonate through the battered bag of bones that was a body. Thankfully he was shaken out of the hell he called sleep. Judas opened his eyes as the ICE train roared towards his body. He suddenly had a better idea. Best in a while really.

Levering his disheveled form off the rails he staggered away from the train tracks with the train actually missing him by several yards, and causing the conductor a small stroke. The train wouldn't have been able to stop even if he'd known the form was there at five miles away.

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Only Methos could drag him out of a comfortable flat in East Newbury, England to a small obsucure village in Eastern Franconia, Germany mused Duncan. High up on the side of a heavily wooded hill, amongst the decayed ruins of an ancient abbey, Duncan waited. His long wool coat was covered in frosty dew. Stillness and concentration were the lookouts that saved his live on more than one occasion. Methos was the closest thing he had to a friend these days, but it wouldn't be the first time a trusted friend set him up. A swirl of fog seemed to descend down the leaf covered hill, sliding over, and around the pillars like a hungry ghost. No, he didn't like this one bit and he was late as well. He turned to carefully climb down an eroded staircase, hoping for a better position and then he froze.

Cold fingers crept at the back of his spine, his heart rate doubled then tripled. Loosening the belt that held his coat closed he placed his hand on the hilt of his katana. There was more than one of them out there. A tall, lean dark haired man of indeterminate age , in a dark London Fog trench coat and watch cap, stepped from behind a large tree. It was Methos .As he approached upwards toward Duncan with the encroaching fog cascading down, the gliding figure made no sound. There was another presence he felt. Not as old as Methos, but still powerful coming from several feet past him. The fog parted and revealed a rather shabbily dressed young man, lean and hunched over with the weight of the world on his shoulders make his way towards the two immortals.

As Methos approached the last vestige of a stone step, Duncan had paused on, he half raised a hand in greeting, "That's not necessary you know, we are on holy ground."

Releasing his grip but not closing his coat, he allowed his gloved fist to fall to his side." You could have at least brought the party favors."

The other man still fought his way up the hill with a determined yet unsteady stride. Duncan could feel the agelessness of his friend and a similar vibration from the man making his way toward them.

Duncan lowered his voice to an almost hiss, "If this is some trick of yours…"

"No, no you've got it wrong as usual," Methos said with an exasperated tone of voice, "He is the party favor. Knowing your penchant for lost causes I figured you may want to talk. You know my opinion on the subject, but this one comes with more baggage than I really want to deal with. I may change my mind later on though." He chuckled. Now closer ,younger man (only in form not in years) had made his way to several feet away from where the two other were standing and halted.

:" Are you the one they call Duncan MacLeod?" he asked in a raspy voice, weighted with weariness." Now that he was closer, Duncan could almost smell the shadow of guilt and misery which hung about the desolate heap like a cloud.

"Yes and I'll be guessing it's a challenge you want?" with a sidelong glance at Methos.

"No,… something ," and he paused for a breath , "No I would like to offer you something else, my head."


End file.
